Chapter 9 Dante
Dante
“Three fractured ribs, Dante? Are you fucking stupid?” my father barked from the other end of the phone. “You’re supposed to be running a business, not playing cowboy!”
I pressed the phone tighter against my ear, wincing as the movement pulled at my taped ribs. The hospital bed was stiff beneath me, and every breath felt like someone was pressing hot coals against my chest.
“It was an accident, Pop,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the pain. “The cow charged Nick. I got in the way.”
“You got in the way,” he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of a cow. Jesus Christ, Dante, you sound like an idiot. This is exactly what I was worried about. You’re letting your dick do the thinking instead of your brain.”
Heat flushed through me, part anger, part shame. “It wasn’t like that. He would’ve been seriously hurt if I hadn’t—”
“So what? He’s a rancher. Getting hurt is part of the job.
You think he hasn’t been thrown from a horse before?
You think he hasn’t dealt with aggressive livestock?
” My father’s breathing was heavy on the other end.
“But you? You’re a Valenti. You don’t risk yourself for some cowboy you barely know. ”
“He’s my husband,” I said quietly, and the word felt heavier than it ever had before.
“He’s a business arrangement. If he gets trampled, we keep the ranch, not the other way around.” The correction was sharp, cutting. “Don’t forget that. Don’t forget why you’re really there.”
I glanced toward the door of my hospital room, where Nick had stepped out a few minutes ago to give me privacy for this call.
I could still see his silhouette through the frosted glass, pacing back and forth in the hallway.
He’d refused to leave the hospital, had stayed by my side through every test and scan, his hand gripping mine whenever the pain got too bad.
“I haven’t forgotten,” I lied.
“Good. Because I’m hearing things, Dante.
I’m hearing you’re getting soft. Playing dress-up, making friends with the locals, and now throwing yourself in front of livestock like some kind of hero.
” He paused, and I could practically see him pouring another glass of whiskey.
“The ranch better be showing results soon, or this whole Montana experiment is over. You understand me?”
“I understand.”
“And Dante? Stop being stupid. You’re worth more to this family alive than dead protecting some piece of ass.”
The line went dead before I could respond.
I let the phone drop onto the bed beside me, staring up at the sterile white ceiling tiles.
My father’s words echoed in my head, mixing with the dull throb of pain radiating from my ribs.
Three fractures. The doctor had said I was lucky it wasn’t worse, that the impact could’ve punctured a lung or caused internal bleeding.
I didn’t feel lucky. I felt like an idiot. But I also didn’t regret what I’d done.
The door opened, and Nick stepped back in, his eyes immediately finding mine.
He looked exhausted, his hair messed up from running his hands through it, dirt still on his jeans from where he’d hit the ground.
But he was here. Alive. And that mattered more than whatever lecture my father wanted to give me.
“Everything okay?” he asked, moving closer to the bed.
“Fine. Just my father checking in.” I shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn’t make my ribs scream. “You know how it is.”
Nick’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly how it was. Overstepping fathers who made decisions that affected everyone around them. We had that in common, at least.
“You should go home,” I said, even though the thought of him leaving made something in my chest constrict that had nothing to do with fractured bones. “Get some rest. Angelo can drive you back to the ranch.”
“I’m not leaving.”
The words were simple, matter-of-fact, but they hit me harder than that heifer had. I studied his face, looking for some sign that he was just being polite, that he felt obligated because of our arrangement. But all I saw was genuine concern etched into the lines around his eyes.
“Nick, I’m fine. The doctor said—”
“The doctor said you have three broken ribs and need to rest for at least six weeks.” He crossed his arms, wincing slightly at the movement. His own shoulder was probably killing him. “Which means you can’t be alone. Someone needs to make sure you don’t do something stupid.”
“More stupid than getting between you and an angry cow?”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. “Yeah. More stupid than that.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him I didn’t need a babysitter, that I’d been taking care of myself just fine for twenty-nine years.
But the truth was, I liked having him here.
I liked the way he’d held my hand in the ambulance, the way he’d stayed close during every examination, the way he looked at me now like I was something more than just the man who’d used him to take his family’s ranch.
“They’re keeping me overnight for observation,” I said. “You really don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to.” He moved closer, pulling the chair up beside my bed and dropping into it with a tired sigh. “But I’m staying anyway. So stop trying to get rid of me.”
I studied him in the harsh hospital lighting. There was dirt smudged on his cheek, his shirt was torn at the shoulder, and he looked completely out of place in this sterile environment. But he was here. For me.
“Why?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
“Why what?”
“Why are you staying? A few weeks ago, you could barely stand to be in the same room as me. You made it pretty clear you hated my guts.” I paused, watching his expression carefully. “What changed?”
Nick was quiet for a long moment, his green eyes fixed on his hands clasped in his lap. When he finally looked up, there was something raw in his gaze that made my breath catch despite the pain.
“You took a hit for me,” he said simply. “Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept going, the words spilling out like he’d been holding them back too long.
“My whole life, I’ve been the one protecting everyone else.
Heather, my parents, the ranch. I put myself between them and every problem that came along.
” His voice was rough, tired. “And then you show up, this... this mobster from New Jersey who I’m supposed to hate, who took everything from me, and you.
..” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to do that.
You could’ve let that cow hit me. Would’ve made your life easier, probably. ”
“That’s not—”
“But you didn’t.” He finally met my eyes again, and I saw something there that made my heart pound despite the medication dulling my system.
“You threw yourself in front of danger without even thinking about it. And I realized something while I was sitting in that ambulance watching them work on you.”
I waited, barely breathing, ignoring the pain radiating through my chest.
“I realized that maybe you’re not the monster I wanted you to be.” His voice dropped lower. “Maybe you’re like me, a man trying to do right by his family. And maybe I’ve been so focused on hating you that I didn’t see it before.”
The words settled over me like a blanket, warm and heavy and completely unexpected. I’d been prepared for a lot of things when I came to Montana—resistance, anger, maybe eventual resignation. But this? This tentative understanding in Nick’s eyes? I hadn’t been prepared for that at all.
“Nick, I—” I started, but a sharp pain lanced through my ribs, making me gasp.
He was on his feet immediately, his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t talk. Just breathe. Slow and easy.”
I did as he said, focusing on the steady pressure of his hand, the concern in his voice. When the pain finally subsided to a manageable throb, I found him still standing there, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“For what?”
“For staying. For giving a shit.” I paused, weighing my next words carefully. “For not hating me.”
Something shifted in his expression, softening around the edges. “Oh, I still hate you.” But he was grinning. “You’re an overconfident stubborn asshole.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. “So are you.”
“Yeah well,” Nick grumbled, sitting back in his chair. “We were bound to have at least one thing in common.”
I watched him settle back into that uncomfortable hospital chair, his body language still tense despite the exhaustion written all over his face.
The silence between us felt different now.
It was less hostile, but not exactly comfortable either.
More like we were both trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
My ribs throbbed with each breath, a steady reminder of my stupidity. Or bravery. I wasn’t sure which one I would settle on by the end of all of this.
“You should at least go grab some food,” I said, shifting carefully against the pillows. “The cafeteria’s probably still open.”
“I’m fine.”
“Nick, when’s the last time you ate?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his brow furrowing like he was actually trying to remember. That told me everything I needed to know.
“There’s cash in my wallet,” I said, gesturing toward the small table where they’d put my belongings. “Go get something. Bring me back whatever looks least likely to kill me. Hospital food’s got to be better than nothing.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re stubborn.” I tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a wheeze that sent another spike of pain through my chest. “Just... please. Go eat something. I’ll still be here when you get back, I promise.”
He studied me for a long moment, and I could see the internal debate playing out behind those green eyes. Finally, he stood up, his joints popping after sitting in that chair for too long.
“Fine. But if you die while I’m gone, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Noted.”
I watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him.
The room felt immediately emptier without his presence, which was a strange realization.
When we first met, I figured he’d hate me forever while I toyed with him.
Now I was already counting the minutes until he came back.
The tables had definitely begun to turn.
I pulled out my phone, staring at the dark screen.
My father’s words kept replaying in my head.
You’re letting your dick do the thinking instead of your brain.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I was getting too attached, too invested in making this work beyond the business arrangement it was supposed to be.
But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was Nick’s face in the ambulance. The way he’d held my hand like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to earth. The fear in his eyes that he’d tried so hard to hide.
That wasn’t nothing. That couldn’t be nothing. And I’d chosen Nick for a reason. Not just because he knew the ranching business, but because he was beautiful and strong. And now that choice was beginning to work against me.
My phone buzzed and I picked it up, a text popping up on the screen.
Angelo: Boss, you good? Need me to come back to the hospital?
Me: I’m fine. Stay at the main house with the Wesleys. Make sure everything’s running smooth.
Angelo: You got it. Nick taking care of you?
I stared at that message for a moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Since moving to Montana, Angelo and I had spent a lot more time together. We weren’t friends back in Newark. He was just an employee. But out here… something had changed.
Me: Yeah. He’s a good man.
Angelo: Happy to hear it, boss.
I set my phone down, letting my head sink back against the pillow. The pain medication was starting to kick in, making everything feel soft around the edges. My eyelids grew heavy, and I found myself drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness as images of Nick’s warm smile filled my mind.